by Emily Woods
Gloom threatened to overwhelm him when he suddenly saw Sarah across the camp in the dim morning light. She caught his eye and gave him a little wave and a smile. His sadness vanished, and he wondered if it was possible that they could have a future. Not every woman wanted children, did she? And maybe they could adopt some children. He would love another child as his own, especially if it meant that he could be with her.
Even as he tried to talk himself into this, he knew it was unlikely. Women were meant to have children. It was in their nature.
Then a thought entered his mind that had no business there. Still, he entertained it.
He didn't have to tell her what the doctor had told him. Or he could pretend like it was only a chance, not a certainty that he could have children. Who would that hurt? He would love her with his whole heart and give her everything that was in his power. They could be happy together. He was suddenly surer of that then anything else he'd ever believed.
Convincing himself wasn't hard, but he knew that Beth would be tricky to get around, so he decided he wouldn't tell her. Privately, he would court Sarah. He would her slip notes, give her little carvings, and when the moment was right, the horse that he was working on. If she fell in love with him, then he knew he was doing the right thing. If not, then he would give up.
But he had to take a chance.
Sarah woke up with a start at the sound of the rifle. She would never get used to waking up that way.
“Time to get up, Margie,” she told her sister groggily. When Margie didn't respond, she touched her shoulder and wiggled it a little. But she drew back her hand with a gasp. Margie's skin almost burned her finger it was so hot. “Father!” she shouted, rushing out of the tent so fast that she nearly tripped. “Father, come quickly!”
Her parents' tent was right beside their own, so her father appeared in a few seconds.
“What is it, Sarah?”
“It's Margie! Come!”
Her mother emerged from the tent. “Whatever is the matter, Sarah?” she asked, her eyes filled with worry as she looked left and right.
“Margie is burning up with a fever,” she whimpered. “She's so hot, Mother. I—I didn't realize until this morning. Oh, I'm such a terrible sister!”
“Now, now. None of that. You are a wonderful sister, better than Margie deserves sometimes. But never mind that. I’ll get your father to check her out. In the meantime, let's get some water going and get breakfast started. No good comes of sitting idly by.”
Although her mother spoke the truth, Sarah couldn't get over how calm she was.
“Don't you care?” she asked before she could prevent herself.
Her mother's mouth pressed into a firm line. “Of course I care, daughter. How can you even ask? But I need to be prepared for anything that your father needs, and that includes boiled water and a fire. He may need to do a hot compress or even surgery. Now, get down to the river and fetch some water.”
The steely tone of her mother's voice set Sarah's feet into action. By the time she returned with the water, her father was talking to her mother, a grim look on his face.
Sarah nearly dropped the buckets and raced over.
“What is it, Father? Is it typhoid? Cholera?”
He shook his head. “It's dysentery,” he replied. “It's still bad, but treatable. We're supposed to arrive at Fort Hall today, and I hope we can find what we need there. In the meantime, we need to get her to drink as much as possible. Do we still have chamomile tea?”
They had packed a good quantity of the tea because of its medicinal qualities, but they'd also given away quite a bit to the other travelers for everything from a headache to sleeplessness to indigestion.
“We ran out last week,” her mother whispered, her face pale.
“Missus Pearson has some!” Sarah declared. “I'll go ask her!”
Before her parents could reply, she dashed off in the direction of the Pearson wagon.
“Of course you can have some,” Emma replied, scurrying over to the back of the wagon and digging out her supply. “Take as much as you want. Oh, the poor girl. That's terrible!”
Sarah certainly agreed with Mrs. Pearson's pronouncement but barely had time to thank her before running back to her father. Thankfully, the water was already over the fire and nearly boiling by the time she thrust the package into her mother's hands.
“You were right to boil water,” she said breathlessly to her mother. The sight of the water bubbling in their large pot made Sarah think of how the captain had insisted that the travelers do two things without fail: drink boiled water and eat pickles. Her sister didn't seem to think that those rules were terribly important and only pretended to eat her pickles, shoving them onto her sister's plate when her parents weren't looking. Worse than that, she knew that Margie had drunk water that wasn't boiled several times because she was too impatient to wait for the water to cool.
Even though they didn't get their water directly from the main river, everyone was still ordered to drink boiled water only. Should she tell her father? Would it do any good or just show Margie in a bad light?
In the end, she decided she'd rather face her sister's wrath than anything worse. Her father confirmed that it was the right thing to do.
“Do you know when she did this?” he asked, his eyes focused. “That'll help me to diagnose her better.”
Sarah thought for a moment. “I know for sure she did it the day before yesterday when we didn't have any cooled-off boiled water available, and once or twice last week, but to be honest, I think she’s been doing it quite regularly.”
Her father nodded and jotted something down on a piece of paper, muttering to himself a little.
“What's he doing?” she whispered to her mother, who was making a mug of tea.
“He's writing a list of things to look for at Fort Hall. Let's pray that they have what we need.”
Hearing her mother speak of prayer took Sarah by surprise. Ordinarily, she didn't say such things, so if she was saying it now, the situation must be serious.
Sarah longed to be useful, to have something to contribute. “Should I ask Preacher Riley to pray for her?” she asked timidly. Even though they never usually asked for prayer from their preacher back home, the circumstances were dire now.
Louise Taylor looked at her daughter, worry in her eyes. “It couldn't hurt now, could it? Yes, go ahead and do that.”
She didn't need any more prompting than that. Gathering up her skirts, she half ran over to the Rileys’ wagon and found Grace and Hope already preparing a fire. She bit her lip as she thought of her last conversation with the young girl and hoped she wouldn’t hold it against her.
“Missus Riley, is Preacher Riley awake yet?” she asked, looking around their campsite.
“Yes, dear. He'll be right back. Can I help you with something?”
Blinking rapidly, she tried to keep the tears back. “Margie is sick,” she murmured. “I don't know how bad it is, but she woke up hot this morning. Father says she has dysentery.”
“Oh, my,” the older woman exclaimed. “Let's pray for her right now. Hope?”
The younger girl drew close and the two held hands, both of them extending their free hands to Sarah. After a slight hesitation, she took them, and they formed a small circle. Mrs. Riley began to pray for Margie, asking for God's protection and healing on her. Hope also offered such a sincere prayer that Sarah's eyes began to water.
By the time the two of them ended the prayer, the preacher was back. He gave them an inquisitive look, and his wife quickly explained the situation.
“I'll come right now,” he stated gravely.
The two of them strode back together, much to the surprise of Sarah's parents.
“Preacher,” Adam Taylor greeted. “Uh, thank you for coming. I'm not sure what you can do...”
“I can't do anything,” the big man declared firmly. “But our God can do anything, and I will beseech Him to heal your daughter of this disease.” He
looked at the three of them. “Shall we?”
The four of them crowded into the tent, and the preacher laid his hand on Margie's brow. Immediately, he began to pray. First, he offered praise, which Sarah thought was odd, but then as he continued, she understood how the prayer was connected. He thanked God for His provision for them this far, for His protection from storms and other problems, for the guidance of the captain and for the camaraderie of their fellow travelers.
“We have become a family, Father God, and now I ask for Your healing hand to touch this daughter of ours. She is one of your children, Lord, and Your love for her knows no limitations. Everything is in Your hands, Jesus, and we invoke Your power to save this girl. Although many have succumbed to this disease on the trail before us, Lord, we pray that Margie would escape this fate. Thank You for what You are going to do in her life, for how You are going to reveal Yourself in her.”
He went on to talk about God's goodness, grace, and mercy to them all before closing.
“You are faithful to hear Your children when they call out to You, Father, so we know You are close. Reveal Yourself to us through this child of Yours. In the mighty name of Jesus, Amen!”
When Sarah opened her eyes, she was surprised to see tears streaming down the faces of both her parents, especially her father's. Although he wasn't an atheist by any means, he put most of his faith in science.
“Thank you, Preacher,” her father murmured, using one hand to wipe his face and extending the other. “If God is going to hear any prayer, it's going to be that one.”
Preacher John gave her father a penetrating look. “He hears all the prayers of His children, Adam. You can be sure of that.”
Sarah stiffened. Most people addressed her father as 'Dr. Taylor' unless they were very close friends, but he didn't seem to take any offense.
“I wish I could be,” he replied, somewhat morosely. “But it's hard to believe in what can't be seen.”
“Ah, but God can be seen...if you are truly looking. Let's talk more about this. Right now, you do what you do best, and know that I will be in constant prayer for her. May I come by again before we start out today?”
It was nearly five o'clock now, and that meant the preacher wanted to come back in less than two hours, but neither of her parents objected.
“Thank you,” her mother said softly. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course,” he replied. “That's why I'm here.”
He gave them all such a kind smile that Sarah felt tears spill out onto her own cheeks. The kindness of the whole family was overwhelming, especially given how their family hadn’t been overly friendly towards them.
The decision was made to put Margie in the back of the wagon with her mother beside her, coaxing her to drink whatever she could. Sarah clambered aboard every so often to relieve her mother and was shocked by her sister's delirium. Captain Holt was informed of her sickness and he extended his sympathy, saying that he was glad it wasn’t typhoid. He didn’t say as much, but Sarah knew that if Margie had contracted that dreaded disease, they would have been left behind for fear of spreading it to others. Thankfully, dysentery didn’t work the same away. It only affected the people who had drunk the unsanitary water.
While Sarah was watching Margie, her sister began muttering things. Her father had said not to pay attention because the fever often caused hallucinations.
“I'm a bad person,” Margie mumbled, thrashing from side to side and pulling her covers off. “So bad. So very bad. No one can love me. No one should love me.”
“Shhh,” Sarah said soothingly, laying a cool cloth over her sister's forehead and rearranging her blankets. “Of course you're not. You are a good sister and a good person. Now, you need to rest. Please, Margie, just rest.”
She kept muttering about how bad she was, but Sarah didn't pay any attention until she said, “I broke it. I broke the bird. I did it. I did it.”
Sarah blinked a few times, and when she realized what her sister was confessing to, she became very still.
“You broke the hummingbird?” she asked softly.
Margie thrashed about. “Broke the bird. I did it. I did it. I'm a bad person.”
For a moment, Sarah nearly stopped breathing. Betrayal, anger, and several other emotions warred in her breast. Part of her wanted to cry out in rage, but pity won out, just barely.
Taking a deep breath, Sarah leaned forward and stilled her sister's movements. “No, sister. You're not bad, and I forgive you. Stop moving about now and rest. Did you hear me? I forgive you.”
Margie calmed down a little and allowed Sarah to pour some cooled-off tea into her mouth, but then spluttered some of it back out. Sarah turned her on her side and let her cough a little. Then Margie closed her eyes and seemed to drift off.
When Mother came to relieve her, Sarah said nothing about the hummingbird. Although she'd told Margie that she forgave her, the knowledge that her sister had purposely broken the sweet little creature weighed heavily on her. Was her sister really so devious that she would deprive her of such a small pleasure?
But then she understood the truth. Margie had been jealous. She's wanted George's attention for herself, the way she usually did. The more Sarah though about it, the more she realized that Margie always sought to be the center of attention and couldn't stand it when anyone preferred her sister to herself. That was why she'd discouraged her from accepting court from any potential suitor.
Sarah felt more anger than pity rise up. Although she didn't wish her sister any harm, she decided in that moment that she would never allow her sister to control her decisions again.
And that included George.
5
By the time the wagon train arrived at Fort Hall, it was late afternoon, and everyone was exhausted, but they cheered loudly as soon as the building was in sight. George was glad for the Taylor family because he knew that Sarah's father was desperate to get several items to speed up his elder daughter's recovery.
Everyone knew that Margie was severely ill with dysentery. George was sorry for the girl, but couldn't help feelings she'd brought it largely on herself. He'd seen her drinking water that hadn't been boiled, despite receiving numerous warnings from the captain about the dangers of doing so. Still, he hoped that she would recover soon.
“Can I help?” he asked Dr. Taylor after the wagon train had arrived and settled their animals. “I know you need a bunch of things.” He'd seen the items on the long list.
The man seemed relieved to see him. “Can you go with Sarah and see if you can locate these things while I look for the rest?” He ripped the list in half and gave it to him. “Whatever you can find will be good.”
George looked down to see ginger, lemon, honey, mint, and castor oil. “Uh, probably won't find lemons, sir,” he said quietly. “But maybe the other things.”
“Yes, yes, I know it's a long shot, but these are all the things I could think of. Actually, castor oil should be at the top. If you only find one thing, please find that.”
Getting a glimpse at the doctor's list, he was glad to have the items he did. The other half had a number of things on it that he didn't recognize. Maybe they were the Latin names for things.
“Father doesn't want me to go alone,” Sarah murmured from beside him. “And someone has to stay with Margie.”
He gulped a little at her sudden appearance. “Uh, yeah, sure. A lot of men here.” A sense of protectiveness welled up in him. Although he wasn't a very big man or even a very fierce one, the others were less likely to bother Sarah if he were by her side. “Let's go.”
The two of them wandered into the trading post and began to look around. Dr. Taylor went straight to the owner and began to ask him a barrage of questions.
“I found the castor oil,” Sarah said from a few feet away. “And some powdered ginger.”
“That's two,” he replied with a nod. “Better than I thought.”
They walked the length of the store looking for the other items. At one
point, Sarah wandered away while he was looking through some bottles. He didn't notice right away until he heard her call his name. He nearly dropped a bottle on the floor and dashed over to where she was practically being cornered by a very large man.
“I only asked you your name,” the man said with a frown. “No need to call out like that. I’m not going to hurt you.” He turned to look at George, giving him a frown. “You shouldn’t leave your woman alone.”
Sarah began to mumble, “He's...uh, well...”
George sidled close to her, and she grabbed his arm. “A lady can't be too careful 'round here, right?” he said evenly, giving him a cool look. The man gave a little shrug and left them alone.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I guess I shouldn't have walked away from you.”
He nodded, but words didn't come. She was still clenching his arm, and he was very aware of her nearness. Her grip almost hurt, but he didn't care. “Stay close then. Uh, I think I found honey, but I can't be sure it's the real thing. Come check it out.”
Bringing her over to the aisle, he noticed that she didn't let go of him. It wasn't exactly a romantic touch, but he enjoyed it anyway.
“What do you think?”
Sarah must have realized that she was still holding him because she looked down at her hands and blushed. Quickly, she let go and took the jar, holding it up to the light.
“It looks real,” she said, tipping it this way and that. “And I think my father's willing to take a chance. Let's go buy it.”
Her father was still talking to the man who was in charge of the post, and George could hear a note of pleading in his voice.
“Are you very sure you don't have any of these things? It could mean the difference between life and death for my daughter.”